The Knight and the Princess
by argonis
Summary: Featuring Batman and Wonder Woman -- can Bruce and Diana be a couple? (Hint: yes)
1. A Nocturnal Dance

_This story was inspired by some of the beautifully written BM/WW stories on the archive. My hat is off to those authors. _

Chapter 1

He released the grapple mechanism and swung onto the roof, cape billowing behind him like a dark mist. 

_Someone's following me_, he realized suddenly. Someone very good, whom he never would have noticed if a shadow cast by an overhanging gargoyle the next roof over, an image he passed by around this time every night, hadn't been a few inches too long. _Probably for a while now_. He immediately ran through the list of possible allies who might be shadowing him for fun. Nightwing—no, not to insult Dick but he would never be able to follow Batman so easily. Batgirl—Cassandra was at home sleeping. Huntress—no, Helena wasn't this good either. 

Very few people were.

His body continued moving as his mind puzzled over the situation. He reached the edge of the rooftop now, fired another grappling hook onto the high-rise in front of him. _Assume enemy, then. __Unknown. Which meant he would seek higher, more familiar ground and turn the tables. _

Now that he was aware of the existence his mystery pursuer, he moved along an exaggerated path to flush the person out. A zig-zag across one roof and immediate leap onto another revealed a very light flutter, one only his keen senses, augmented by audioscopes located in the pointy ears in his mask, could pick up. This person was very good. 

He located a favorable building, one where he would have the advantage of height and surprise. He landed, quickly turned the corner around an enormous advertising billboard that espoused the latest Cola concoction, and waited, batarang cocked and ready. There was no sound, but a barely noticeable shift in the air and he leapt out, hurling the weapon at its target. 

There was a solid _clang of metal on metal. The tiny spark that erupted was enough light for his night-vision lenses to pick up the outline of the mystery figure._

"_What are you doing here?" he demanded. _

Princess Diana of Themyscira, aka Wonder Woman, smiled innocently at him. "Hello, Batman. I was just dropping by." Instead of her usually patriotic ensemble she was wearing loose fitting black clothing, but her hair—the source of the flutter earlier, he noted—was unbound and flew freely in the night wind. 

"I've told you to stay out of my city." 

"I know, I've heard it before," she replied in an airy tone. "Other superheroes show up, undermine your image, your job becomes harder, old Bat can't cut it, and so on and so forth." 

He glared at her. "Leave." 

"Aren't you even going to ask why I'm dressed in this ridiculous getup?" 

He turned away, stalked toward the edge of the roof. 

"Batman! Come on." 

He held out the grapple, fired it. 

"I'll give you three guesses…"

The grapple found its target and wrapped tightly around the pole. 

"You're no fun."

He tested the line's tension. 

"I think you're just bitter because you didn't realize I was following you," she called out.

Just before stepping off the roof, he turned his head and sent her an—almost—amused glance. "I had you four blocks ago, Princess." 

Her smile just widened. "I've been following you for seven." 

His eyes narrowed but he couldn't stop his body's momentum, and he was off the roof before he could reply. _Damnit__._

But he couldn't hold back a small, very slight, grin. 

***

The mugger waved his rusted pistol at the terrified couple. "Now!" 

The husband forced his wife behind him and faced the mugger, palms held up pleadingly. "Sir, please—"

"Now!" 

"Give him the money, Jim," his wife hissed from behind him. Her eyes widened as the mugger lifted the gun to her husband's head. Her mouth opened—

--he pulled the trigger—

--BLAM—

--she screamed—

--_Kaping__. _

When she managed to open her eyes again, a new figure stood between them and the mugger. She could only see their savior's back—long, black hair over black clothing. 

"If I were you, I'd put the gun down," came a female voice, strong yet feminine. 

BLAM. BLAM. And two more _pings_ as the woman deflected the bullets, then sauntered toward the man and decked him into the wall. 

She turned toward the couple and gave them a beautiful smile. She was gorgeous. "Have a good night," she said, and floated away. 

The wife watched in awe as the figure in black disappeared, then turned to her husband, whose jaw was in danger of hitting the ground. 

"Ow!" he cried as she smacked him in the head. 

***

Diana smirked at the sharp cry, and landed easily on the rooftop above the aborted mugging. 

"Princess," came the growl. 

She almost flinched, but held herself still. She'd been expecting him, after all. "Hello, Batman," she said without turning. 

"I won't stop you from flying around if you want to sightsee," _for now_, was the implied threat. "But if you interfere again—"

"If I hadn't, what would have happened to that couple?" she demanded. "Should I have watched them be shot?"

"No," he replied, the growl tempered by something foreign in his voice. Amusement? "You should have watched a real hero in action." 

She whirled around, mouth open indignantly, but he was gone. It was a few moments before she finally found her voice. 

"Touche'," she whispered to no one in particular, but she was smiling. 

***

He slid effortlessly into the Batmobile, a sword coming to rest in its sheath, its job done. The digital clock read 4:35 AM. He revved the engines, pressed the buttons to close the top, and drove off. 

One hand was on the steering wheel; the other tapped buttons without stopping. The police band was silent; it had been a quiet night. He checked the latest news feeds: nothing. 

It was one of those great miracles of Gotham, a silent night. The only incident had been the mugging, and he had not even been involved in stopping it. 

What had Diana been doing here_? he wondered. That led to another question, why hadn't he been more adamant about her leaving, especially when she had interfered in the mugging? __You're getting soft, Bruce, he chided himself, blaming the quiet night, his own lack of sleep, and various other reasons, without once touching upon the real one. _

As he neared Wayne Manor he pressed the keys to bring up video feeds of the mansion, the entrance to the Batcave, and the cave itself. It was a routine he performed every night before actually pulling into the cave. Just in case. He tapped his way through the images. Paranoia, maybe. Necessary, yes. 

He paused at one of the screens, the one that showed the entrance sitting room of the mansion. He stared at the crisp image. 

"What the hell is she doing?" he muttered. 

***

"More tea, Madam?" Alfred asked. 

"No, thank you, Alfred," she replied with an easy smile. "But perhaps another one of those cookies?" 

"It would be my pleasure." He lifted the tray and held one out to her, wrapped in its folded napkin. 

"These are heavenly," she said as she accepted the biscuit and took a bite. She sighed in pleasure. "But, Alfred, are you sure I'm not keeping you up?" 

The butler shook his head. "As I told you earlier, Miss Diana, I am generally up to help Master Bruce wrap up any loose ends at the end of his patrol and… tuck him in, so to speak. In fact, he should be arriving—"

"Right now." 

Diana had been lulled into a sleepy state by the comfortable sofa and the delicious cookies; Batman's appearance startled her. Alfred didn't even blink. "Welcome back, Master Bruce."  He strode toward the Dark Knight, handed him a towel and helped him remove cape and cowl. "I'll leave the two of you to your business, sir," he said as he left the room. 

Bruce and Diana watched the butler leave. "You're very lucky to have him, Bruce," she said softly once Alfred was out of earshot.

"I know," he murmured, "I'm reminded of that every day." He turned to face her and visibly shifted gears. Piercing blue eyes studied her.  "What are you doing here?" 

"Won't you sit down?" She patted the cushion next to her. Still wearing her quasi-ninja suit, she was a splash of black on the red velvet. 

"No."

"Oh, fine," she said in exasperation. "Take all the fun out of it."

He just looked at her. 

She stood up abruptly. "You'll notice that I removed any trace of Wonder Woman from this outfit. There's no danger of anyone, criminal or civilian, thinking that you were getting help from an outsider."        

"I know." His voice was soft but he didn't shift his gaze. He did take a few steps toward her, into the light. The muscles in his hardened chest, no longer hidden by the cape, shifted as he moved. She was distracted for a brief moment.  

"I'm sorry for following you. If that made you mad. It's just that I saw you swinging along as I was flying overhead and I just couldn't resist the challenge." 

Not mad, he thought, more like impressed. Few people could shadow the Bat for three city blocks without him noticing. Not that he would ever say that out loud. "Understandable."

She opened her mouth to speak again, then closed it. Her stomach was fluttering. She realized that her hand was gripped so tightly it had crushed the cookie Alfred had given her. She glanced at it, held it up to show him. "I ruined his cookie," she said with a sad laugh. 

Bruce had somehow covered the distance between them and stood only a few feet away. "What is it, Diana?" 

She swallowed. "Do you know about the ball in Gateway City next week? For the International Children's Fund?" 

"Yes. The Wayne Foundation is one of the sponsors, so Bruce Wayne will be attending. I understand you're one of the featured guests. Why?"

Do or die. The words came out in a rush. "I was wondering if you…if Bruce, would be my date for the ball." She said this to his boots, then looked up and couldn't hold back a giggle. 

He wasn't wearing the cape and cowl, but the effect was close enough. For the first time since she had met him, the Batman looked flabbergasted. 

***

"And what did you say, sir?" Alfred poured more steaming coffee into the mug. 

Bruce took it and slumped back in his chair, sighing as he sipped the scalding coffee. He had had four hours of sleep, and the caffeine hit just the right spots. "This tastes great, Alfred." 

The butler nodded smoothly. "What you said to Miss Diana, sir?"

"What was I supposed to say, Alfred? Do you realize what she was asking? For Bruce Wayne to be Wonder Woman's 'date' could set off all sorts of questions I'd rather not deal with. It'd be a lot of trouble. Not to mention working with her in…professional situations. Things would be uncomfortable..." He trailed off, staring at the mug.

"So you said yes?"        

Bruce took another sip of the coffee. Alfred raised an eyebrow and waited. 

The word was muttered sullenly into his cup. "Yes." 


	2. Three Hundred and Twenty Five

Author's note: It's been quite a while since I wrote fiction; it's a lot of fun but things are definitely a bit rusty. Ah well, work-in-progress. Incidentally, this chapter—and actually, most of the story—was inspired by a single scene: how much could Bruce Wayne bench press? 

Thank you for the comments/feedback thus far. Enjoy. 

Chapter 2

What the hell had he been thinking? 

He was slumped over the main controls in the Batcave, head cradled in his hands, ostensibly making use of his precious few moments of free time before the long day began. But instead of being productive, he had spent most of his time worrying about…tonight.

"Computer. Access Wayne PDA." 

The Cray beeped instantly. "_Online_."

"List schedule today."

"_Schedule for Thursday, November fourteenth_," the toneless female voice began, as the words scrolled on the plasma screens before him. 

"7_:00 AM__: Breakfast, Lucius Fox, Juniper's. _

_8:00 AM__: Meeting, Board of Directors, __Wayne__ Enterprises. _

_10:00 AM__: Meeting, Dr. Siderman, Wayne Tech._

_12:00 PM__: Lunch, Simon Bradley, Acme Corporation. _

_2:00 PM__: Meeting, Joseph Briggs, __Wayne__ Enterprises. _

_4:00 PM__: Meeting, __Stanley__ Feder, LexCorp. _

_6:00 PM__: Plane Flight, __Gateway__City_

_8:00 PM__: ICF Ball, __Gateway__City__"_

"Stop. Cancel six-o'clock…" he began, but trailed off, licking dry lips. 

The computer beeped questioningly. "_Confirm cancellation of __six o'clock PM__: Plane Flight: __Gateway__City_?"

His mouth worked several times, but the word wouldn't come out. Finally, he groaned and said, "No." 

***

Diana stared at the mountain of paperwork in front of her. _The things they don't tell you about being ambassador to Patriarch's world_, she thought ruefully. Break spears. Run fast. Dodge bullets. And try to stay awake while reading the latest proposal for Kasnia's fifth economic treatise in as many years. 

She pored over GDP and tariffs and trade requirements for an hour before words and numbers began to blur. When she caught herself wondering how much eleventy-teen was, she decided it was time for a break. 

The Themysciran ambassador walked to one of the side tables and poured herself a cup of tea. She gazed longingly at the array of cookies and pastries laid out on the table, but forced herself to be good. A girl had to watch her figure; after all, she had a date tonight. 

The intercom buzzed. "Diana? You have a call on line one. It's Cassie." 

"Thanks, Amy," Diana called out, then strolled back to her desk. She braced herself before pushing the button for line 1. 

"Hi, Cassie." 

The young voice over the phone was almost a shriek. "Diana! I just read the gossip columns! Isn't your date tonight? Are you really going out with Bruce Wayne? I hear he's really really really filthy rich! How'd you get a date with him? What are you guys gonna do? When are you getting back? You have to, have to, _have__ to_ tell me all about it!"

Diana held back a laugh. "Yes, I am going on a date with Bruce." That set off another round of chatter from the girl, during which Diana glanced at the clock on her desk. Only ten in the morning. Still a long time before…

"What?" she sputtered at something Cassie had said. "Cass, I am not going to sleep with him!" She shook her head in mild exasperation as the young girl continued to jabber excitedly.

***

Down. _Breathe in. _Up. _Breathe out._ _Eight_. Down. Up. _Nine_. Down. Up. _Ten_. 

Bruce strained with effort as he pushed the bar up a final time and shifted it back into place with a loud clatter. He sat up slowly from the bench press, chest heaving. After an early end to the Lexcorp meeting, he was trying to ease some of his tension by lifting weights in the manor's gymnasium. 

It wasn't really working. He glanced back at the weights on the bar. Two forty-five pound plates and one twenty-five pound one on each side. Two hundred seventy-five pounds, the weight he usually pressed. 

He needed something more right now. He went to the weight rack and picked up another pair of twenty-fives, sliding them on with a soft clank. Three hundred twenty-five. 

As he settled back into position on the bench, he wondered why he was feeling so…angsty. Well, he knew the reason, but… 

He put it out of his mind to concentrate on the task at hand. He had hit three hundred only a few times before, preferring to tone and toughen his current mass rather than build even more. Fingerless workout gloves tightened around the bar. He inhaled. 

With a grunt, he lifted the bar from its rack and began the smooth pressing motion. The first two repetitions were easy enough, but the third took some effort and by the fourth his left shoulder was twitching. A bullet had grazed it sometime last year and it still wasn't on par with the right one. He made a mental note to swing on grapples with his left more often. 

He fought his way through the fifth, and through sheer force of will brought all three hundred-odd pounds down and up one last time, finally slamming the bar back into place with a tremendous clatter. Six reps. His muscles were trembling. He just lay there and groaned. 

He sat up at the sound of Alfred entering the gym. The older man carried a tray with towels and a pitcher of water. 

"Three twenty five, Master Bruce?" the butler inquired. "Most impressive." 

Bruce grinned wolfishly. 

"Might I recommend that you begin getting ready for your plane, sir?" Alfred asked. He placed the tray on a side table and handed a towel to Bruce, who accepted it gratefully and buried his sweat-soaked face into the soft fabric. "The flight is in just over an hour." 

Bruce didn't lift his head; his voice was muffled. "I think I'm going to cancel, Alfred." 

The butler frowned. "Certainly not." 

Bruce looked up. "What?" 

Alfred was bustling about wiping down machinery. "It would be most improper, sir, to cancel on a lady on such short notice." 

Bruce blinked in surprise. "I do it all the time, Alfred. You never say anything." 

The butler pursed his mouth. "That's different, sir. Regrettable, but necessary to maintain your image as a…womanizer." The word came distastefully off his lips. "Miss Diana does not strike me as the kind of person to be used for such a means, sir. The lady seems very special."

"I know, Alfred." Bruce stood from the bench, gestured at the bar he had just lifted. "She's Wonder Woman. She could toss that thing over her head with her little finger and snap the bar in half if she wanted to." 

"And that is the reason you're so hesitant about going to this function, sir? Because she is physically stronger than you?" 

Bruce gave his butler a glare that he usually saved for when he was wearing cape and cowl, a narrowing of the eyes and curl of the lips that made the most hardened criminal, and even the majority of the superhero community, shudder. 

Its recipient was unfazed. "Might I remind you, Master Bruce, that the effect of that stare is rather wasted on someone who changed your diapers when you were a child. I would suggest you save it for a more opportune moment." Alfred dusted his hands off, having efficiently wiped down all the machines during their short conversation. "I would also suggest you take your shower and get ready for the flight, sir. Your suit and tie will be waiting."

As the English gentleman left the room, Bruce did something very uncharacteristic for the Batman. He sulked. 

***

"Bruce Wayne," he said hours later, freshly scrubbed and impeccably dressed. He flashed his famous smile. "She's expecting me." 

"Of—of course," said the dazzled receptionist, who was trying hard not to gawk. "W-Welcome to Gateway City, Mr. Wayne. Miss Diana will be…just a moment." 

"I don't mind," he said with a wink. The receptionist turned red, then bent over her files and began typing furiously. 

He walked around the desk, studying the décor and artwork in the waiting room. Soft pastels, pictures of landscapes and gardens. Boring. 

"Mr. Wayne?" the receptionist called. "She says to go on up." She explained how to get to Diana's room. He thanked her and gave her another smile that left her whimpering. 

As he entered the elevator and hit the button for Diana's floor, the suave façade fell away and he realized that he was very nervous. He ran his free hand along his freshly shaven jaw; the other clutched a bouquet of roses and an elegant box of French truffles. Flowers and candy had been done to death, but what did you give a woman who could lift an airplane over her head and fought crime dressed in a red-white-and-blue swimsuit? 

The elevator dinged and opened. He stepped out into the hallway and headed to her room. She asked _you _out, he reminded himself. _You're _not the one that's supposed to be nervous. 

Meanwhile, _I can't believe I did this_, Diana thought, staring at the clock. She blew on her hands to warm them. Amazons weren't supposed to feel the cold but her hands were chilled. Or was it just her imagination? For the millionth time that week she wondered what in Hera's name had possessed her to fly to Gotham that night. 

It was already seven. Had he changed his mind and not bothered to tell her? Would Batman do that? He was the cold and calculating one in the league but there was no way…was there? She started tapping her foot to release nervous energy, but stopped immediately; it was unprincess-like.

He wouldn't stand her up. Would he? 

The bell rang. She shot up and literally flew to the door.

***

He took a deep breath as the handle began turning. He plastered a wide smile onto his face, then realized he would look like the Joker and forced it down. Almost unconsciously, his shoulders straightened even more. The door finally opened and Diana stood facing him. 

"Hi," she said shyly. Her eyes were sparkling.

She was a vision. A black strapless dress was wrapped around her slender but curvy form. Her hair was done up in an elegant coif atop her head, baring smooth, creamy shoulders and the perfect curvature of her neck.

Bruce Wayne had dated models, actresses, some of the world's most beautiful women, but none of them came close to the one standing before him. He struggled to find his voice. 

"Hello," he said at last, managing to his surprise to sound almost normal. "How are you?" 

"Good," she replied. "Thanks for coming. I was worried…" she trailed off, then brightened. "But you're here." Her eyes flickered to his left hand. 

"Oh. Here," he said, offering her the bouquet and box. "For you. Not very original, sorry. I didn't have much time to look for anything…"

"They're beautiful," she murmured, accepting the gift and breathing in the roses. "Come on in, I'll put them in water and we can go." 

He obediently stepped inside and looked around. As he had thought, her place was much more interesting than the receptionist's room. It was a unique mix of the modern and classical, with Amazonian busts and sculptures complementing sleek design and furniture to give the room a cheerful brightness. 

He watched as she carefully set the roses in a Greek vase on the coffee table, head bent at the task. He caught a hint of her perfume. The back of her neck was smooth and so very enticing. He couldn't resist lifting a hand and trailing a finger along the soft skin. Still clutching one of the roses, she froze at his touch and trembled as he stroked her neck. 

She straightened up to look at him. The rose fell to the ground, forgotten. They were standing very close together. "Bruce, I…" 

The shrill rings of a phone jolted them both out of the moment. They laughed together in relief and embarrassment. 

She pointed apologetically to the phone; "Excuse me." She picked it up and listened for several seconds. "Yes, he's here, I'll talk to you later," she said rapidly, and almost slammed the receiver back onto its hook. "Cassie," she explained to his bemused expression. 

He had retrieved the rose and slipped it into the vase. "We should get going." He offered his arm with a grand gesture. "Ready for an incredible night of listening to bloated windbags dazzle you with stories about their golf game?" 

She giggled and slipped her smaller arm into his. "Why, Mr. Wayne, one might think you don't enjoy these events. What's not to love about parading scores of beautiful women around, like you always do at these things?" 

"I do it for the children," he declared with a solemn face. They shared a laugh and left the room.

***

Her face broke into a smile at the sight of the person holding open the passenger door to the limousine. "Hello, Alfred." 

The butler returned her smile. "Good evening, madam. I hope you are well tonight?" 

"Wonderful." She slid in gracefully and scooted to the end to accommodate Bruce. The limo's doorway seemed almost too small for his large frame, but he followed her in with an ease that matched hers. 

When they were settled and Alfred had pulled onto the road, she leaned back into the plush seat cushion and gave a small, contented sigh. 

"Tired already?" Bruce asked teasingly. 

"Paperwork all day. And Cassie wouldn't stop calling me about this date." She smiled at the thought. "That girl dragged me to a dozen beauty salons until she found one she liked. How about you?" 

"She has great taste." Diana blushed at that. "Meetings for me. And Alfred had everything ready." 

"Lucky you," she said. "Does he always come with you to out-of-town events?"

"Sometimes. Especially if there's a chance that something might happen back in Gotham. There's a couple of situations I've been monitoring, just in case; one of them is…" he trailed off. "What?" 

"Bruce…how about no shop-talk? Let's enjoy this night." 

He shrugged. "As you say, Princess. Though," he made a face, "I'd rather talk shop than golf scores." 

"You really don't like these events? I imagine you have to go to a lot of them." 

"It doesn't mean I have to like them. The events themselves are for a good cause, it's the people I can't stand. Well, most of them…not all," he said, gazing at her. He gave a self-deprecating chuckle. "Besides, I'm terrible at golf." 

She smiled. "So you actually _can _admit you're not perfect at something." 

"I can't cook, either. Ask Alfred." 

She laughed and turned toward the driver's end of the limo. "Is that true, Alfred? Even with a great chef like you teaching him?" 

The butler gave a dramatic sigh. "Sadly, madam, yes. I do believe it's hopeless." She giggled and leaned back into her seat. 

"Alfred--" Bruce began. 

The tinted glass panel was already rolling up. "Terrible traffic, Master Bruce. Must concentrate on the road." It closed with a soft click. Bruce's eyes widened in panic. 

They spent several moments examining each other's shoes. 

He finally broke the silence. "I'm going to have to ask this sooner or later." He paused, as if trying to decide on the best approach, and finally just said, "Why?" 

She arched a perfectly formed eyebrow at him. 

"Why did you ask me to this?" he clarified. "I'm sure you knew the Wayne Foundation was involved and I would have been here anyway." 

She took a deep breath, let it out. "Do you really not know, Bruce?" 

"I'd like to hear your reasons." 

They sat in silence while she formulated an answer. The limo's engine purred quietly as it traversed the road. Like everything else about him, Alfred's driving was immaculate; there were no sharp turns nor sudden starts and stops. 

"There's something between us," she said finally. "Some kind of tension, but in a good way. I've felt it. Other people have noticed it. I think you've felt it too." 

"Have I?" 

"Kyle asked me why you were staring at me during our last meeting." 

He blinked, startled. Had he really been that obvious, that Rayner of all people would…? He cursed his stupidity and made a mental note to especially torment the Green Lantern for the next week. Maybe month. 

"And what did you tell him?" 

"I told him we were arguing over something and it was your way of trying to intimidate me." Her pouty lips twisted into a smirk. "He wished me luck and said he hoped you never stared at him like that, ever." 

Definitely month. "You told a lie?" 

She shrugged. "In a way, it was true. It was that or ruin your reputation, no? I don't think your…target audience would be nearly as terrified of you, if they knew you were such a softy inside." Her smirk widened.

He crossed his arms and glowered. 

She laughed at his reaction, then grew serious. "More people are beginning to notice. J'onn knows, obviously, and I think Kal suspects." 

"Suspects what, exactly?" 

"That there's…something…between us." 

"What?" 

"Are you saying you haven't felt anything?"

He opened his mouth to speak, decided better and closed it firmly. 

She smiled at that. "See, I knew you would never do anything about it. You're too stubborn; you'd keep it to yourself forever. So I decided to do something." When he didn't answer, she spoke up again. "I have…feelings…for you, Bruce. I don't know what they are, exactly, but, I think…" She took a deep breath, swallowed. "I...like you, Bruce. I think—I think you like me, too. I think something could…might…" she trailed off. Her face was red. 

He continued staring at her; neither of them said a word. The flush had stolen down her neck and throat. The silence grew uncomfortable before they spoke at the same time. 

"Princess, I—"

"I don't—"

They smiled. "Go ahead," she murmured. 

He collected his thoughts. What kind of courage did it take her to say this to him? What would it have cost him to be the first to say such a thing? Could he have ever done it? In some ways, he realized, the princess was far braver than the knight.

"Diana," he said at last. "I don't think…" He tried again. "Relationships are never a good idea in our line of work. Especially mine. Regardless of what we might feel." 

Her smile grew so radiant that he felt a tug at his heart. "So, you do feel something." 

I do. All the time. Ever since I started working closely with you and realized what an incredible person you are. I dream about you sometimes. Not often, but it's a sharp contrast to the dreams I'm used to having. 

He couldn't say those words. He took a deep breath and instead forced himself to say, "Perhaps," then amended it quickly. "But that should be as far as it goes." 

"Why?" 

It was his turn to raise an eyebrow. "Do you really need me to spell out the reasons?" 

"I'm sure I can guess the ones you'd bring up. But how do they—"

His cell phone buzzed discreetly. It was an emergency line, so he muttered a quick "Excuse me," to Diana and pulled out the slim black case. He flipped it open. 

"Wayne." 

"Bruce, it's Barbara," came the muffled female voice. 

"Babs! How are you?" The line was secure but it was still a cell phone; there was no sense taking unnecessary risks. Just like they hadn't directly mentioned any secret identities in the limo, even though he had scanned it three times over for bugs and other electronic devices. Long live paranoia.

"Good. There's a situation." 

"Glad to hear that. I'm doing well. What is it?" 

"It's about the old man and his daughter," Barbara said softly. His jaw clenched. They had a code for this kind of notification. The clown was obvious. So was the bird, or the cat, or the puzzle. The old man was Ra's Al Ghul. 

Diana caught the tightening of his mouth and was looking at him curiously. "Okay. Hey, Babs, I'll call you right back," he said with a cheer he definitely didn't feel. Not now, of all times…

He slipped the phone back into its pocket and tried to smile at Diana. "I need to borrow your phone. Emergency." He tapped his ear. 

She nodded and began fiddling with her right earring. "Of course." She slipped out the small earpiece and handed it to him. 

*** 

Barbara Gordon popped the bubble she had just blown with her chewing gum, then shifted the gooey lump back into her mouth. One of the many consoles in front of her beeped over the alternative rock music blaring from her speakers. Her hands danced over a keyboard to track the comm's ID, and she frowned. Why would Wonder Woman be calling her? 

She shrugged and pressed a button. "Oracle." 

"What's the situation?" 

She blinked. "Batman?" He spoke in a tone very different from their cell phone conversation moments ago, but she knew both voices as well as anyone. She re-checked the comm ID. Yep, Wonder Woman's, from Gateway City. "What are you doing—"

He cleared his throat. 

"Right." One hand flashed furiously as she searched all her news sources for references to Bruce Wayne and Gateway City. The other continued typing away as it updated her on the six developing situations around the world, none of them as critical as Ra's. "Nightwing traced a suspicious character back to a warehouse in the docks district. He found a bunch of thugs unloading a ship. Ra's is there. Batgirl and Robin are en route."

"I'll be there in twenty minutes. Tell them to stay put until I arrive."

"Got it," she replied, still reading about Wayne and Gateway City. She clicked off the transmission. Ahh, the International Children's Fund was holding a ball. But why was Bruce using Diana's comm? Her eyes widened as the latest gossip column flashed on the screen. 

"Bruce, you dog," she said, smiling. 

***

He handed the earpiece back to Diana without a word. 

"Bad news?" she asked with a grimace, knowing the answer. 

"Yes." Curt. 

"Okay..."

"Problem back in Gotham. I need to use your pad." Transporter. 

"Okay." 

They fell silent. He pressed the intercom button. "Alfred?"

"Yes, Master Bruce?" 

"Alfred, I'm afraid we're going to have to head back to the Themysciran embassy. Something's come up back home." 

"Very well, sir. And Miss Diana?" 

"Oh, uh, we should drop her off first—" He paused; Diana was shaking her head vigorously. "Never mind, just back to the embassy, please." 

"Very good, sir." Bruce released the button. 

He rubbed the back of his neck and stifled a sigh. There were times, not often, that he wished things were different, that he could lead a normal life and go on normal things like dates without being at the beck and call of any maniac with a grudge. He couldn't think of a time he'd wished for it more so than now. "I'm sorry." 

She shrugged, not entirely succeeding at keeping the disappointment off her face. "Our line of work, right?" 

"I'll make it up to you, Diana. I promise." 

"I'll go with you," she offered suddenly. Before he could protest, she waved her hand at him. "Yes!"

"No. Diana—"

"I'm coming with you. You promised me a date tonight, and I plan to get it one way or another. Once your problem's out of the way, we can try again." 

So very tempting. "No. That's final." 

"I'll wear the black outfit," she offered in a teasing, mock-seductive voice. 

He let out a snort and shook his head, but he was smiling. His faced sobered quickly. "No. I'm going to be firm on that. Sorry."

She crossed her arms and glared at him. They didn't speak the rest of the way back to the embassy. 


	3. A Fist Through Steel

Author's note: I debated briefly over whether or not to post (or even write) this chapter, as it's a mostly action-oriented piece. Action scenes, in my opinion, aren't very well-suited to fanfiction, which seems more about exploring ideas and thoughts that don't get fleshed out in official media. And after all, this is supposed a Bruce + Di romance. But in the end, Bruce is Batman and Batman has to kick ass.

Maybe it's just because I'm not very good at writing action (you be the judge). As always, thanks for the feedback so far, and enjoy. 

Chapter 3

He slid into the Batmobile. In moments the systems were online and humming and the vehicle peeled onto the mountain roads. He tapped a sequence of buttons. 

"Oracle," came the acknowledgement. 

"I'm in Gotham. Report."

"One moment. Okay, at last count Nightwing saw approximately twenty to twenty five armed men around the ship and warehouse. Ra's is there, Talia is unconfirmed. Ubu," Ra's bodyguard, "was also spotted. There was also one more, unknown figure, not one of the armed thugs. Batgirl's ETA is three minutes; Robin's ETA is under five. " 

"Open a channel with Nightwing." 

"On it." There was a harsh beep, and a pause. "One sec." Another beep. "Nightwing?" Silence. "Shit." 

"What?" he demanded. 

"He's not responding." Oracle's voice was disguised by a transmitter but her distress was obvious.

A black-gloved hand tightened on the steering wheel. "When was his last transmission?"

"Checking—seven minutes, fifteen seconds ago." 

His mind began racing through possible contingencies. "Tell Batgirl and Robin to stay two hundred yards from the warehouse. Have them check in periodically. I'll be there in ten minutes." 

"Got it." 

The sleek vehicle roared through the Gotham night. 

***

Richard Grayson, aka. Nightwing, groaned and tried to blink. His vision was still blurred. _God that hurts like a mother_…

"He's awake," a voice hissed. 

What the hell had happened? He remembered spying on Ra's operation through hi-powered binoculars from several buildings down, and then the world had suddenly gone black. He tried moving his arms; a chain rattled. _Fuck. _Stupid rookie mistake, not watching his back while on reconnaissance. Bruce would chew him out for this. 

"Wake up!" He recognized the harsh voice as Ubu, Ra's personal bodyguard. A meaty hand slapped his face. He cracked his eyes open. 

Two men stood before him. Ubu was a massively built, bald headed man, with a scimitar strapped to his side and a submachine gun looped around his arm. He looked every bit the fearsome warrior and bodyguard. But the other one…

The other one was clad in black from head to toe, his stance exuding a quiet but deadly calm. Nightwing knew at once that the slender man was the more dangerous of the two. Probably the one who had ambushed him; he had heard absolutely no noise, and there was no way Ubu or any of Ra's other hired hands could have surprised him so badly.

_I bet Cass would fuck you up_, he thought bitterly at the ninja. _Or let me out of this, I'll do it myself. _

"He awakens?" The accented voice belonged unmistakably to Ra's al Ghul. The wizened but ageless man was making his way toward them. The Demon's Head, as he was known, claimed to have been alive for over six hundred years, but he looked to be a darkened, fit man in his forties or fifties. His eyes were black slashes that missed little. "You should not interfere in your elder's business, child." 

"Go to hell," Nightwing spat. Not the most original remark, but the best he could do while trying to clear the cobwebs in his brain. He received another blow from Ubu for his trouble. 

"How dare you speak like that to the Master!"

Ra's gave a cruel twist of his lips that might have been a smile. "I plan to avoid that for quite some time, boy."

*** 

Alfred allowed himself a long-suffering sigh as he flicked a feather duster over one of the many server bays in the Batcave. He had not heard the actual conversation behind him in the limousine, but by observing the lady's change in expression between the time they were heading to the ball and while they were on the way back, he could well imagine what she had been thinking. 

Poor lass, he thought. He rubbed away a particularly irritating speck of dust. 

The transporter began beeping and he hurried over to the monitor, even though he was fairly certain who the mystery guest would be. A glance at the screen confirmed his suspicions. 

He was hard at work battling an oil streak on one of the tables when Diana strode out of the portal, dressed in her black combat fatigues. 

Her posture was defiant, as if prepared for argument or battle, but it deflated upon seeing him. "Alfred," she began uncertainly. 

He sketched a polite bow. "Madam. I'm afraid Master Bruce is away at the moment." 

She sighed. "And I don't suppose you'll tell me where he is? Or help me find him?" 

He went back to his scraping. "Miss Diana, I am under direct orders from my employer not to speak with you nor give you any assistance in following him." 

She crossed her arms. "So that means you will?" 

His lips quirked. She had pluck, this one, to equal Master Bruce. "He left about ten minutes ago, madam. As it so happens, a map to the docks is on the computer. I do believe I was dusting upstairs and never heard you arrive." 

Basking in the glow of her smile, he hoped his charge would not find a way to ruin this one, too. "Thank you, Alfred." She turned and prepared to leap into the air.

"If I may make a suggestion, madam?" he ventured. 

She paused, feet already hovering off the ground. "Please do."

"Master Bruce is not accustomed to…outside assistance in his line of work. Don't let him use that as an excuse to push you away." 

She nodded. "I understand, Alfred. Thank you." 

"Godspeed, Miss Diana. Or rather, Hermes, is it not?" 

She smiled, gave him a little wave, and zoomed out. 

*** 

He slammed on the brakes and was out of the Batmobile almost before it stopped, all the while tapping the button sequence on his belt's keypad to secure the vehicle. A flip of his arm brought the grappling hook to bear; he lifted it and fired, allowing the pulley mechanism to bring him to the rooftop. 

A young girl, dressed in a sleeker version of his suit with the mouth covered, nodded at his arrival. She gestured to another rooftop and within seconds a caped teenage male landed next to him. 

"What's the situation?" he asked Robin. 

"Not great," the boy whispered. "They got Nightwing chained down in one of the buildings, guarded by some ninja guy and two other goons. There's about ten of them milling around the building, maybe ten-fifteen more on the boat."

"And Ra's?"

"He was out here for a while but went back onto the ship."

Batman nodded. "All right. Here's what we do…" 

*** 

Barbara pressed the comm button. "Oracle."

"Oracle, this is Wonder Woman." 

Barbara nodded. Right voice on the line this time, at least. "What do you need?"

"I'm in Gotham," the voice was a bit uncertain, but strengthened, "on my way to help Batman." 

Barbara raised an eyebrow at that. "Does he know—"

"No."

"…okay." 

"I'm heading to the docks now. Is there anything I should know before I get there?" 

Barbara hesitated, imagining the glare and the lecture she would get from Bruce the next day. Then she shrugged. "Yes," she said, and began explaining the situation to the other woman. 

*** 

The three members of the Batclan crouched on the roof, making their final preparations.

"When the charges go, Batgirl takes the ninja. Robin, you free Nightwing. The three of you clear the warehouse. I'll hit the ship."

His two protégés nodded and the group split up, with Robin and Batgirl making their way directly overhead the warehouse, while he prepared his assault to board Ra's vessel. The grapple was in his hand.

A beep in his headset gave him pause. "Yes?"

"This is Oracle. Wonder Woman is inbound to your location, ETA one minute forty-five seconds." 

He narrowed his eyes, resisted the urge to growl at her. Concentrate on the task at hand first. Damn Alfred, sometimes. "We'll talk about this later, Oracle. Out." He switched channels. "Robin?"

"We're ready."

"Go." He pulled out the remote detonator and pressed down. 

They had planted tiny C-4 charges along the abandoned building next to the warehouse. The explosion rocked the harbor and sent a fireball billowing into the night. Ra's men yelled and scampered about, seizing their weapons and shouting orders. 

The three avenging angels swooped down into the midst of the pandemonium. 

***

From miles away, Diana saw the ball of fire mushroom into the sky. She narrowed her eyes and prayed to Hermes for more speed as she cut through the night, a blackened arrow speeding to its target. 

***

The explosion caught the sentries on the ship off guard. Staring and pointing at the burning building, they didn't notice the black shadow looming larger and larger behind them. 

The heel of a boot struck each of them solidly in the back. They tumbled over the ship's railing, plunging into the icy waters of the river below. 

The impact broke the momentum of his swing; he released the line and twisted his body to land noiselessly on a lower ledge. A startled goon gaped at him, submachine gun in hand but not in firing position. First and only mistake. His fist lashed out and the guard crumpled against the cabin wall. 

The Batman stalked forward. 

***

The ninja, a mercenary-for-hire who hailed from a secretive clan located in a remote province of northern China, had accepted this job for the chance to test his skills against the infamous Dark Knight of Gotham. He was in a foul mood; his time and skills were being wasted as a glorified security guard for the old man's enterprise. 

The explosion sent him leaping skyward to intercept any incoming threats. He crouched on the roof and glanced around, senses alert. 

A barely perceptible flutter, inaudible to most ears, made him look up, and he fell into a defensive stance as Batgirl landed smoothly in front of him. He studied his opponent from behind darkened lenses. It was a woman—no, he realized, taking in the slim figure and tiny breasts, a girl.

"They send a _girl_ to fight me?" he demanded in his native dialect, lowering his hands. A female warrior was acceptable; he knew the legends of Lady Shiva. But a _girl_… 

The girl launched herself forward. In the instant it took to re-align his defenses, her hand jabbed him three times in the chest, shoulder, and throat, making him gag, while a small boot swept his feet out from under him. Her other palm thudded into his chest. He went flying. 

The girl bat was on top of him before he could get up. A foot stomped on his solar plexus, knocking his wind out and keeping him down; a set of fingers hit a pressure point in his shoulder that numbed his right arm. He lashed out with the left but she deflected it cleanly, then grabbed, twisted, and yanked the arm out of its socket. He gave a half-groan, half-scream. 

What kind of demon was this? That was his last thought before her hand chopped down on his throat and cut off the flow of oxygen to his body long enough to render him unconscious. 

The martial arts phenom known as Batgirl, aka. Cassandra Cain, looked up from the man she had taken six seconds to decimate. The man with long hair and boy with bright clothes were free and fighting many men with guns. She glided to the edge of the roof and somersaulted off, breaking her fall with the body of an unfortunate thug. 

The group that had been firing at Nightwing and Robin stopped to gawk at the intruder in their midst. Her fists and feet flew out. In seconds, half of them were on the floor and the rest were training their guns on her. There were several thwacks and thuds and the remaining goons collapsed. 

The two Robins, one old and one new, stood over the fallen bodies. She waved at the long haired one. 

"You get the ninja guy, Batgirl?" Robin asked.

She nodded, pointed back at the roof. 

"'Atta girl," Nightwing said, chuckling. "How long?" 

She flicked out six fingers, and returned his grin with one of her own. 

*** 

He needed only a punch and a boot to the face to lay out another set of thugs. That made ten. One minute had passed. Guesstimate around five more on the ship, plus Ra's, Ubu, and maybe Talia. 

He heard a noise in the next room and flattened himself against the wall. To a casual observer he simply melted into the shadows. 

Three—no, four men inside, arguing in a foreign language. He slipped to the doorway, so light on his feet he was almost floating. The door was cracked open; he glanced inside, memorized each person's position, and pulled back, all in the blink of an eye. 

He counted to three, then lunged and kicked the door off its hinges. It flew into the room with him right behind it. His arm pumped once, twice, and the two thugs facing him suddenly found batarangs stuck in the barrels of their guns. The other two had had their backs to the door, but quickly whirled to face him. Their guns opened fire. Four armed men against a Bat. 

They never had a chance. 

As the last man collapsed on the ship floor, some instinct warned him of danger. He pivoted in time to see a reinforced steel plate seal off the doorway he had just entered.

He immediately charged the other exit across the room, but before he had taken more than two steps, another steel plate slammed into place, cutting off that route too. 

He allowed himself a silent curse. 

"Welcome, Detective," Ra's voice boomed from behind him. 

He whirled around. The voice came from a speaker/monitor tucked in a corner of the ceiling. A batarang shot out and buried itself into the monitor. The ruined black box sizzled and spat blue sparks. 

There were no other exits or windows in the room. 

Stupid, stupid, _stupid_, he berated himself. He tested the steel plate with a batarang. It bounced off. Another one clanged against the ship wall—also steel—and fell harmlessly to the ground. 

One more thing left to try. He picked up the fallen projectile and hurled it into the ceiling with all the force he could muster. It stuck—barely, but enough. He opened a different compartment in his belt, where another item in his bag of tricks was carefully stored. 

A tiny bat followed its brethren into the roof. This one was beeping. 

He lifted his cape to shield his face from the exploding debris. When the dust cleared, he glanced up at the man-sized hole the explosive had opened and gave a satisfied nod. The grapple jumped into his hand and he fired. It hit the roof of the room above and began lifting him toward the ceiling. 

He shifted, twisted, and swung his body through the hole like an acrobat, clambering out of the trapped room to see—

--Ubu with a submachine gun trained on him. His eyes widened behind the dark cowl. 

He didn't have time to move away, but managed to throw his cape in front of him. It wasn't completely bulletproof—especially at this range—but could dull the impact. The spray of bullets came from less than five feet away.

Six struck his chest, three his stomach. The Kevlar under his suit took the brunt of the blow but it was like being kicked by a horse. 

Three bullets missed. 

Two more ripped through the cape and hit his un-armored left shoulder. It felt like he had been speared with a white-hot branding iron. He gasped and stumbled back. 

Ubu bellowed in victory and kicked him in the chest, knocking him back down to the room below. 

He landed with a painful crash and fought the blackness threatening to overwhelm his vision. His back and shoulder were on fire. Ubu followed him through the hole and hit the floor with a heavy thud. The bodyguard was smiling. 

A loud bang dented the side wall of the ship. Both of them jerked their heads toward the sound. Another bang. The indentation of a fist appeared on the steel. Ubu's jaw dropped; the bodyguard shifted his gun and pointed it uncertainly at the dent.

A third crash and the steel wall split. A hand reached in, began to peel the opening apart like an orange. Batman took advantage of the distraction to kick the larger man's feet out from under him. He snapped his other leg up and nailed Ubu in the back of the head as he fell. The bodyguard collapsed into a motionless heap. 

His shoulder was on fire, his left arm useless, but he staggered up to face the newcomer. A portion of the steel wall was torn off and a black figure flew into the room.

"Batman!" a female voice cried. 

Diana?

He took a step toward her and stumbled. She was at his side in an instant, holding him up. A detached part of his brain noted that she still smelled faintly of the perfume she had been wearing earlier.

"I'm fine," he grated. "Get Ra's. More important." He tried to push her away. 

She wouldn't let go. "We got him," she said. "Nightwing's handling it. They were—" her eyes widened as she noticed the blood staining his shoulder. "You've been shot!" 

"I'm fine," he bit off the words. "Go." 

He was still dazed and couldn't react fast enough to stop her. In an easy motion she scooped him into her arms and flew them out of the hole she had just created. 

He was sweating heavily and the cold air on his face was a relief. She brought them to the upper deck of the ship. He could see a swarm of police lights on the harbor and beyond. 

"I've got him," she said softly, and he realized she was talking into a comm-link. "He's been shot. In the shoulder. Where should I…okay." She was about to take off, still cradling him in her arms, when he stopped her. 

"Princess." She paused, looked at him worriedly. His jaw was clenched. "I'm going to forgive you for coming here because you saved my life. But if you carry me back like an invalid I'll hold it against you forever." 

She laughed in relief. "Men." She gently set him on his feet and wrapped her arm around his waist. Her limbs were slender but incredibly strong. "Better?"

He nodded, trying to muster as much dignity as possible. They floated off the ship and into the night. 


	4. Consequences

Author's note: Alfred's really is the hardest dialogue to write. Actually, this whole chapter was pretty hard, especially to edit and refine. 

Thanks for the feedback/comments, and enjoy. 

Chapter 4

Diana crossed her arms, fuming. "Bruce, talk to me." 

The object of her ire lay on a gurney in one of the manor's many bedrooms, stripped from the waist up. Alfred was bent over his shoulder, peering at the line he was threading through the other man's skin. Bloody gauzes and bandages lay on a tray next to them. 

"Bruce!" When he didn't respond, she shifted her gaze to the butler. "Alfred, make him talk to me."

The old man didn't look up, pulled tight on a suture. "Unfortunately, Miss Diana, at the moment I am here solely in a medical capacity. I'm afraid the role of messenger will have to wait for a later time."

"Men!" With that exasperated cry and a stomp of her foot, the princess of Themyscira stormed out of the room. 

Alfred gently threaded a line through flesh, wrapped it around to tie a knot. "Master Bruce, if I may remind you—"

"Don't." 

He gave it a few more seconds. "Sir, I really would suggest—"

"Alfred." 

"Very well, sir." 

He worked in silence for the next few minutes. After a final knot and snip, he straightened his aching back and examined his handiwork, then offered his employer a hand.

With his butler's assistance, Bruce sat up. His head felt oddly detached from his body, a side-effect of the painkillers they had used. He grimaced as he tried to rotate his wounded shoulder. 

"Don't move, sir." Alfred began winding a strip of clean white bandaging around Bruce's body. His hands moved with a practiced ease. "There will be significant bruising in the chest area tomorrow." 

Bruce nodded. "They were point blank," he said, referring to the bullets that had struck him in the battle earlier. Most had had hit his torso and been stopped by the body armor beneath his suit. One had grazed his shoulder; another had ended up inside it. The bullet now sat in a deformed lump on the medical tray. 

"You will be fine, sir. On your typical injury scale this rates a piddling three or four." 

"Thanks, Alfred." 

"I daresay I'm not the one you should be thanking, sir."

Bruce sighed. "What can I say to her?" 

Alfred was busy clearing medical supplies and bloody wrappings from the makeshift surgery table. "I would imagine that I've taught you better manners than that, Master Bruce. Might I recommend a 'thank you', for starters?"

"I already said it." 

"There is a significant difference between a heart-felt 'Thank you for saving my life,' sir, and the 'Thanks. I'm fine. Go home,' that you offered to Miss Diana."

"I didn't say it like that." 

"I believe those were your exact words." 

Bruce tilted his head to stare at the ceiling, lolled it around in a slow circle. "She's pretty mad at me, isn't she." It wasn't a question. 

The butler chose his words carefully. "If her demeanor when she left the room was any indication, sir, she certainly cares a great deal for you and your well-being."

"Alfred, I—I'm not used to being rescued…" 

The uncertainty in Bruce's voice gave Alfred pause. Scalpel in hand, he straightened to look at his charge of forty years and waited for Bruce to return his gaze. His own voice was firm. "Master Bruce. Believe me when I say that she does not consider it a weakness in you." 

"She tore open a ship to get to me, Alfred."

"A most commendable trait in women." 

"Being the weaker one in a relationship isn't something I'm used to. She's so..." Bruce paused, unable to find the word. "We're completely different. It wouldn't work." 

"I believe the saying is, 'opposites attract,' sir." Alfred had loaded everything onto the tray, which now balanced in his wiry but capable hands. The tabletop was sparkling clean. "Master Bruce?"

"What?" 

"In my opinion, sir, this is something you should be discussing with Miss Diana. I will send her in, if you wish, while I tidy this mess."

Bruce didn't answer. Instead, he tentatively flexed his left shoulder, testing its limits. "It's a good dressing, Alfred." 

"Only the best for you, sir." 

***

Diana had been perched on the edge of a chair, but was on her feet before Alfred had even stepped into the room. "How is he?" 

"Miss Diana," Alfred said in greeting. "Master Bruce is fine. Ill-tempered and sore around the shoulder, I would imagine, but more than ready to continue in his never-ending quest to drive me to drink." 

She blinked at that. "How is he…emotionally?"

"A psychiatrist would have a field day with that question, madam."

"Alfred…"

"Miss Diana, I do believe that is an issue the two of you should resolve together. Privately. In the meantime, I must get this," he gestured at the crimson stains on his clothing, "cleaned up before the blood becomes an absolute fright to remove."

"Should I go…see him?"

"Certainly—and Miss Diana…"

"Yes?" She was already at the door. 

"Despite his…outward demeanor, Master Bruce is still only human. That is something that distresses him at the best of times, let alone in moments like these. Do remember what I said earlier about letting him push you away." 

She nodded thoughtfully. "I understand, Alfred. Thank you." 

"My pleasure, madam."

***

She tapped softly on the door. "Bruce?" There was no answer. She tried again. "I'm coming in." 

The door opened smoothly: no squeaky hinges on Alfred's watch. The lights were off, the only illumination coming from the bit of moonlight that straggled in from the open bay windows. It took her a few seconds to adjust to the dark. 

Bruce was sprawled on a recliner facing the door, his chest and shoulder heavily bandaged. His eyes were closed but she knew from his breathing that he wasn't asleep. 

"Bruce," she said hesitantly. 

He opened his eyes. To her surprise, he looked haggard—it was one of the rare moments that he didn't appear comfortable in darkness. "Diana." He struggled to get to his feet. 

"Don't get up," she said, stepping into the room. "Sit. How are you feeling?" 

She supposed that it was an accurate measure of how worn out—or drugged—he was that he did as he was told and sank back into his seat. Even his voice was tired. "I'm fine. A couple of bullet wounds. I've had worse." 

She smiled and began to move towards him, then thought better of it and instead went to the bed in the middle of the room. He watched as she sat down. The mattress was surprisingly soft. 

"I'm not used to being rescued," he said abruptly, before she had the chance to speak. "Thank you. For saving my life. I'm sorry if I—"

"I understand," she said before he could continue. "You don't have to apologize."

"Good, because I'm not used to that, either," he said dryly. 

"Hrm. In that case, a little practice might do you good." She cracked a smile. "Abase yourself, knave." 

He chuckled and bowed his head as gallantly as possible in his situation. "Fair princess, I humbly beg your forgiveness for being an oaf and offending you earlier. Please allow me to make restitution to restore your honor." 

"You can buy me dinner next week." 

The teasing look disappeared as he studied her. He gave a sudden yawn, clapped his hand to his mouth. "Sorry. It's the drugs." 

Diana nodded and rose to her feet. "You need to get some rest, Bruce. But we're going to have to talk about this sooner or later." She strode toward the open windows and glanced outside. An owl hooted somewhere in the darkness. "I'm going home." 

"Stay," he said suddenly. She turned to him, startled. "If—if you don't mind, I mean. Stay a while. We can talk." 

She wavered. He needed his rest, and she really should be getting home to get some sleep. Not to mention think about everything that had happened—

"Please." 

That decided it. Surprised, she floated back onto the bed. The spot she had vacated was still warm, an odd little comfort. She sat down and waited, looking at him curiously. 

He cleared his throat. "What I said back in the limo," he began, "about relationships not being a good idea in our line of work." She nodded. "Do you still want my reasoning?" 

"Let me guess," she said. She had been going over the list all night. She lifted a hand and began ticking off the points on her fingers. "First, you think it might compromise our professional behavior and our ability to function objectively for the greater good of the league." Her voice imitated his official tone during league meetings; his lip twitched.

"Second, you're human and I'm not. Third, Gotham is your life and you don't think you can devote time to anything outside of it. And fourth and most importantly, if something happened to me, you would blame yourself for hurting another person who got close to you." He gave a slight nod at each of her points. "Close enough?" 

His chuckle sounded forced. "You know my arguments so well, you might as well make them for me." 

"Then you make mine," she challenged. "Play the devil's advocate. Tell me why a relationship might work." 

He was taken aback by that. "I don't think that's the wisest—"

"Afraid of what you might find?" 

Provoked, he sat up and his features shifted into what she recognized as Batman's look. She had seen that particular set of his jaw countless times, when pure, unadulterated resolve met human limitations and weaknesses, and won. Always. 

"Fine. Why a relationship might work. We have chemistry and the mutual attraction to spark a romance." He spoke very matter-of-factly, but she couldn't resist a shiver at the memory of his fingers brushing against her neck. "You already know my identity so that isn't an issue that might drive you away or come between us. We're in the same line of work so we can understand the possible complications—the danger, being apart at times, and so on. We have each other's mutual trust and support." He paused. "We work well together on the battlefield, as a team; that could translate into normal, everyday activities, and…other things, too." 

She resisted the urge to blush. 

He settled back into the couch. "Now tell me why you wouldn't want a relationship."

"What?" 

"It's your turn to argue the other side." 

She nodded, recognizing his methodical approach in tackling every aspect of a problem. She also understood his need for reassurance, that as Clark had told her, deep down inside behind the cowl and gadgets and the granite face, Bruce was just a scared little boy who wanted his parents back. And that in some paradoxical, twisted way, stating her own insecurities might help reassure his. 

"We're both very stubborn. Relationships require give-and-take. We would be bad at that."

"Terrible. You're very hard-headed, Princess." 

She allowed herself the childish pleasure of sticking her tongue out at him. "Look who's talking, Mr. Wayne." 

That got a smile. "Go on."

"We're very different in a lot of ways, yet very similar."

"Differences, first." 

"Fine, the biggest one. You're human, I'm not. Even if we were to have…something, it would only last until…" she trailed off, not wanting to speak aloud the notion of him dying. He waited patiently while she struggled with the words. 

"You see, Princess?" he said at last. His voice was surprisingly gentle. "When you look at it from another angle, suddenly things aren't so black and white anymore. It's easy to say, 'I want a relationship'. It's not so easy to recognize the consequences that come with having one.

"It doesn't have to be so difficult," she insisted. "It can be simple. We could just kiss each other right now," _do it, damn you_, didn't she wish, "and walk out of the room together." 

"It's never that simple." 

"Do you always look for the worst in everything? You must be a riot at parties." 

Her tone was light, but his face grew serious. "I have to. I'm not invincible, Princess, as you saw tonight. I'm not Clark: if something goes wrong I can't rush into the situation, take a few bullets, and blow out all the fires. I have to plan for every possible contingency. It's how I get by."

"It's a relationship, Bruce, not a battle. I would be working with you, not against you." 

"Fine. Work with me to resolve the mortality issue." His voice was neutral again. 

What could she say? 'At least we'll have had something'? She pondered that for several moments. The Batman was not the kind of person you offered banal platitudes to. 'I'll have my memories of you long after you're dead'?

She thought of a phrase from a poem she had read in one of the library archives. The line had struck her as a notable insight on Man's attitude towards life. "'Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all,'" she quoted. It seemed fitting.

"Tennyson. But is it true?" 

She thought of her mother's passing. That pain was a smoldering coal waiting to be prodded into a full-blown fire. Would she trade it away in return for never having loved Hippolyta? Her immediate reaction was no, definitely not, but she considered that. Right now, Hippolyta didn't exist, creating a void in her life. And if Diana had not loved her mother, there would be no pain to accentuate that void. But since she had loved her, she was left with her pain—and still no Hippolyta. Did fond memories outweigh that anguish? But no, she had more than just memories of her mother. Didn't she? 

She shook her head, confused. "I can't be that objective. I don't know." 

He nodded as if confirming something. "Then let me tell you something, Princess: it's not. People who say things like that are ignorant romantics who never actually lost any loved ones." His voice grew bitter. "You live with the pain, the anger. You tell yourself that if you had done something differently, if you had somehow been better, or faster, or stronger, there might have been another way. That they didn't have to die, that you should have done something to—" His words abruptly cut off, and the iron set of his jaw tightened another notch. "That's why I am…what I am today."

Hera, such pain in his voice. She wanted to take him into her arms and comfort him, but he went on. 

"In our case, there wouldn't be another way. I will die because, in the end, I'm only human." She flinched, but he was brutal. "Or you would die because you faced something that I was incapable of dealing with. There's no way to resolve that." 

Was there? He was human and she was an Amazon. Did that mean they could never have anything together? Was she cursed to be alone in the mortal world, with the exception of those few who shared her long lifespan? Ah, but among those who shared her lifespan was a good example—

"Kal is not human, but he loves one. And—"

"I am not Clark." He said this so quickly, so forcefully, that she was taken aback. "I will never be Clark, Princess. Do you understand me?" 

"I—of course you're not, I didn't mean—" For the first time that she could remember, the Batman's cold stare intimidated her, made her shrink back. She hated the feeling. 

Why was he suddenly so adamant? Did he think …her eyes widened. He thought that she was comparing him to Kal, that…

"I am not Clark," he repeated coldly. "If he's the one you're really thinking about, you're going to be awfully disappointed with me. I'm not—"

"How could you say such a thing?" she demanded, her own temper rising. "Hours after I confess my feelings for you, you think I'm fickle enough, such a child, that I would throw my emotions around to whoever happens to catch my fancy? You think that after telling you I care for you, I would be thinking of Kal in that manner?" 

"I'm suggesting that you think clearly about what it is you really want, and whether someone else might be better—"

"How dare you!" She was on her feet. "You think you know what I want? You sit there lecturing me on relationships when you know so little about them! You're scared of the slightest commitment. You're terrified of opening yourself up to anyone. So you brood within the confines of the perfectly ordered life you've built in your cave, driving away everyone who might care about you, and you think _you_ have all the answers to how I feel! You stubborn, ignorant…" she flailed about for an insult, decided on the worst she could think of, "_man_!" 

She glared at him from her full five feet eleven inches. There was a satisfied gleam in his eye that made her want to break something, preferably connected to his body. But the look contrasted sharply with the tight, sorrowed lines in his face. She blinked, her anger on hold as she wondered at the disparity. 

Then it hit her—he was trying to drive her away, or make her drive him away, and was offering himself as a sacrifice to make things easier.

She closed her eyes and took a few ragged breaths to calm herself. She forced her mind into a calmer, meditative state. "That's what you want, isn't it Bruce?" 

"What?" 

"You want me to be the one that leaves, so you can stay safely behind your mask without having to risk your heart. So you can say, 'Oh, she was the one who decided it wouldn't work,' and you won't have to admit to yourself that you were afraid. And then you don't have to open yourself up to anything." 

He didn't answer, but he didn't need to. 

His silence spurred her on. "If that's truly what you want, I won't stop you." She thought sadly of possibilities that might have been and still could be, then took a deep breath and steeled her resolve. "A relationship goes both ways, Bruce. Even I don't have the strength to fight for it alone." Her voice broke on that word. Only a little. "If that's what you want. Just say so." 

She stood frozen as the minutes ticked by. 

He said nothing, just stared at her. Then he looked away. 

It was answer enough. 

She nodded shakily and turned away from him. "Good-bye, Batman." Her insides felt hollow, as if something there had been removed. It took all her self-control to keep from stumbling as she walked to the window. 

The room was deathly quiet. She hovered over the window ledge and was on the verge of flying out when he spoke. 

"Diana." His voice was soft. 

She answered without looking at him. "What?" 

"No."

"What?"

"That's not what I want." 

She paused, turned slowly to face him. "What…?" 

She was treated to a rare sight: Bruce's face was unguarded and he looked frightened and saddened and confused all at once. His words came slowly, as if each one was an effort to force out. "You're right… I'm afraid of opening myself up to anyone. And I'm…scared by the strength of my feelings for you. But I don't—I don't want you to leave. Please." 

She opened her mouth, couldn't think of a response. 

He took a deep, shuddering breath, massaged his jaw and mouth several times before he spoke. "Diana," he said finally. "I know the pain of losing someone you love. I don't know if I could go through it again. And I don't know if I could stand the idea that I would cause you that much pain." He trailed off, leaving unspoken the implication of his words. 

He loved her. 

She had moved toward him without realizing it. She sank into the couch and wrapped her arms tightly around his body, careful not to touch his injured shoulder. "You stupid idiot," she muttered savagely as she buried her face against the crook of his neck. 

His arm circled around her body and pulled her closer. "Diana," he murmured. Her shoulders shook. He closed his mouth and gently stroked her hair. 

When she finally lifted her head, the bandages around his neck were damp. The tension had drained out of her body, leaving her weak and trembling but feeling very happy and giddy all at once. She looked at him and couldn't resist a laugh; his mouth was hanging open as he stared at her. 

"What's so funny?" he asked. 

She smiled. "I've never seen you look like that." 

He snorted. "It's the drugs. They're getting to my brain. Affecting muscle control." 

She laughed again and laid her head on his shoulder, arms still wrapped around his chest. She felt the steady rhythm of his heartbeat and his own arm snug against her lower back. It was a comforting feeling. 

"We haven't really solved anything, you know," he said at last. 

She shifted in his arm. "Mmm."

"I'm serious. We still have issues to work out, and we don't—"

"Bruce. Shut up and kiss me." 

That did the trick. Looking awed, he leaned in; their lips were almost touching. His breath was warm and heavy and thrilling. "Is that an order, Princess?"

"Just do it, Mr. Wayne." 

He did. 


	5. Flowers at Night

_Note: ffnet took all the asterisks in the story away. The formatting, too. :( _

-

-

Chapter 5

-

-

-

She laughed and moved closer. "I've never seen you like this."

"Like what?"

"Like...yourself. Not in one of your roles. Not the scary Batman, not the businessman, not the playboy. More human, more honest, more...real. It's fascinating."

He snorted. "You're seeing me drugged and in pain. If that's your favorite, I've obviously been taking the wrong approach to women."

She smirked and hit him playfully on his unscathed shoulder.

"This is Bruce Wayne at his most vulnerable. It's not a pretty sight."

"I'll be the judge of that."

The ensuing silence was comfortable rather than awkward. She dozed against his body, reassured by the even rise and fall of his chest.

He gave a sudden groan and shifted his shoulder. "Sorry. The anesthesia's wearing off."

She looked up in concern. "Should I get Alfred?"

"No, let him get his sleep."

"I thought he was washing up."

"He passed by half an hour ago, stopped outside but didn't come in." Bless him. "Probably went to bed. God knows I overwork that poor man."

"Are you all right? I can get you something—"

"I don't want more drugs. I'll be fine."

She nodded, lay her head back down. "You really should get some sleep." She didn't move.

"Yes." Neither did he.

-------------

She blinked. Sunlight was streaming in through the open windows.

She let loose an unprincessly yawn and began rubbing sleep from her eyes, all the while trying to stay burrowed under the bedcovers. They were snug around her shoulders, and she was loathe to leave their warmth.

There was a soft knock on the door. She gazed blearily at the source of the noise and propped herself up on her elbows. "What...?"

"Miss Diana?" An English voice floated into the room.

"Alfred?" She finally noticed her unfamiliar surroundings, gave a start. Then it all came back to her. Last night—she and Bruce—"Alfred!"

What had—had they—where was—?

"I have prepared breakfast, madam," said the muffled voice. "Would you care for some now, or shall I return later?"

She threw off the covers, realized she was still wearing her black outfit. "Come—come on in, Alfred."

The door opened and the impeccably dressed butler entered. He carried a tray loaded with food; the aroma of freshly baked bread made her nose twitch appreciatively.

"Good morning, Miss Diana," Alfred said, seeming not to notice her disheveled state. "I hope you slept well?"

"I..." she ran a hand through her hair, trying to smooth out the tangled black tresses. "Great. Where is..."

"Master Bruce had to attend an early business meeting." Alfred set the tray on the bedside table. "He asked me to convey his sincere regrets, and also to give you this." The butler lifted an envelope from the tray and handed it to her.

She opened it and took out the handwritten note. Bruce's script was small and neat. _Princess_, the note read.

_Thank you._ _For everything. _

_As you said, I still owe you dinner. If you're free tonight, I would greatly enjoy the pleasure of your company at the manor. Please let Alfred know if can make it. _

_Bruce_

She couldn't hide her smile when she looked up.

"I hope that means I will be preparing dinner for two tonight?" Alfred asked expectantly.

"I would love that, Alfred. If it's not too much trouble."

The butler beamed. "Certainly not. It will do wonders for my poor culinary ego to cook a meal for someone who might actually appreciate it."

"How could Bruce _not _enjoy your cooking?"

Alfred's lips pursed. "Master Bruce would be just as oblivious eating at one of those..._fast food_ establishments as he would dining on truffles and foie gras. And Master Dick has unfortunately inherited his father's indiscriminate tastes."

She hid a smirk at the image of Batman and Nightwing sharing a Happy Meal on a Gotham rooftop. "I can't wait, Alfred. Oh...as long as it's not, what do they call it, _escargot_?"

The butler's nose wrinkled. "Snails are meant for the garden, not the palate, madam."

She smiled at that. "Then I know dinner will be fabulous."

He nodded with a confident air. "And that means I must attend to my duties now if I am to satisfy those expectations later. Please feel free to relax anywhere in the manor, madam."

"Oh, I wish I could, Alfred, but I really need to get to work." She paused, glanced at the door leading to the suite's bathroom. "Although...do you think I could take a quick shower before I head back to Gateway?"

"Certainly, madam. You will find fresh towels in the closet to your left. Please call on the intercom," he gestured at the panel, "if you need anything."

"Thanks, Alfred," she said. "I'll be quick."

He just smiled.

She emerged from the bathroom an hour later, toweling her damp hair and feeling extremely refreshed. She looked guiltily at the clock, which now read 9:30 AM, but...there was a Jacuzzi in there! The bathroom was enormous and decked out with all sorts of toys; she had spent five minutes just playing with the control panel that activated the various faucets. Cold and hot water, soap, lotion, perfume, bath oils, even bubble bath, all dispensed cleanly with the touch of a button.

Come to think of it, what would Bruce need bubble bath for? She kept that thought in mind to tease him with.

-------------

"Well, it's not _my _bathroom," Bruce said defensively. At the silence, his protest grew louder. "It isn't!"

The reply was broken up by static. "—--bzzt--—sure you don't sneak in there—--crackle--—unwind from a long d---zt---s work? Bubbles are remarkably soothi—--zzzt--—ou know."

He opened his mouth to protest once more, decided to change the subject instead. "Are you going to be all right?" he asked.

The voice immediately grew serious. "Yes. ----crackle--—lly sorry, Bruce. It's just that--" A burst of static rendered the next words incomprehensible.

"Don't apologize," he said. "I understand. Be careful."

"—--zzt--—dbye, Bruce." The communicator in his ear clicked off. With a sigh, he pulled it out and stared at the tiny electronic device.

Alfred stood behind him, with a face almost as glum as his. "I take it that Miss Diana will not be joining us for supper?"

"No. Problem with Circe in the earth's core."

Alfred nodded. "Should the League perhaps be mobilized..."

"Already done. Lantern and J'onn are on standby." He stood up, began pulling off the Armani jacket he had put on just half an hour ago. "There's nothing I can do for her."

The muted frustration in his words showed in his struggles with the suit. Alfred was there before he could rip the ten thousand dollar garment, easily slipping the coat from Bruce's arms. The billionaire began tugging at his tie, then sighed and let Alfred undo the silk strip.

"Sorry, Alfred."

"I am rather disappointed myself, Master Bruce."

"I'm going on patrol." He stalked off.

"Sir, your arm ..."

Bruce was gone before his butler could finish the sentence, leaving the older man standing there with jacket and tie in his hands. Alfred spared a melancholy glance at the dining room, from where the smell of roast duck was drifting into the air.

He sighed and went to retrieve another suit, entirely different from the one he now held.

"Sandwich and chips again," he muttered as he left the room.

-------------

She stumbled onto the balcony, holding her aching side. The wounds caused by Circe's blasts had healed for the most part, but they were still sore. At least the sorceress was taken care of...or rather, had disappeared, so they could play this scenario over again in a few months. She grimaced as she approached the balcony doors.

The doors slid open on their own.

She immediately crouched into a defensive posture, hands at the ready. She ignored the twinges in her hamstring and abdomen.

"Who's there?" Her eyes scanned the darkness, saw a patch of black darker than the room itself. She readied herself to lunge—

"Diana."

She relaxed instantly at the sound of that voice, so much so that a part of her marveled at her ease around him. Batman was at her side, supporting her as they walked to her bed. She was too tired to protest.

"Are you all right?" he asked. His somber tone held a note of concern she had rarely heard before.

"Fine," she tried to smile at him. "Tired. Sore. The usual. I'm sorry I couldn't make it tonight. I really wanted to go."

"I understand."

"Our line of work, right?" The repetition of her words in the limo made her chuckle. She winced at the painful flare in her chest and didn't see his jaw tighten.

"Yes."

He helped her onto the enormous bed. She yawned.

"I'd invite you to join me," she murmured sleepily as her head sank into the soft pillow, "but that's not something I do until at least the first date." She yawned again and closed her eyes. "Which we never finished."

She was already half-asleep. He tucked the blanket around her shoulders and almost—but not quite—touched her hair.

"I know."

He watched her for just a little while longer, making sure she was fast sleep, then strode out the balcony and into the night.

-------------

"Bruce?"

"Bruce?!"

"Bruce!"

Bruce started, looked up from the huge mahogany desk. "Wha—oh, Lucius! Sorry, didn't hear you come in. What's going on?"

The CEO of Wayne Enterprises spread out a dozen charts and bar graphs onto Bruce's desk. He pointed to the first one.

"These are Munroe's third quarter earnings. They posted a loss of more than seventy cents a share, thirty percent under analyst estimates. But their stock went up two and a half points this morning due to rumors of our buyout. So, we hear LexCorp's also interested now and leaving Jonesy..."

Lucius carefully articulated each word, almost as if he considered his audience a bit slow. Bruce resisted the urge to tell him to hurry up. He knew everything there was to know about the Munroe, Jonesy, and Stackheimer Corporations. He knew that Wayne Enterprises was making blatant buyout overtures to Munroe in an attempt to inflate the company's perceived value and then hopefully slip in unnoticed on the Stackheimer and Jonesy deals. He had memorized the exact assets, expense, and profit sheets from each of the three companies, knew their management structures from top to bottom, and with a few buttons could find out what each of their CEOs had for breakfast.

So he put a dull grin on his face. "It all sounds great, Lucius! When's lunch?"

Lucius stared at him, interrupted in the middle of explaining the dynamics of the board of directors at Stackheimer. "Ok, Bruce, what's going on?"

"What?"

The CEO sighed and pulled off his glasses, rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I know you find these things a bit...boring, Bruce, but your head's been in the clouds the past few days. You didn't even notice me coming in. And you wrenched your shoulder playing _golf_?"

"I...I'm sorry, Lucius. I guess I'm a bit distracted lately."

Lucius gave him a knowing look. "Another woman, huh?"

"I guess you could say that."

"Blonde?"

"Black hair, actually. And her legs!"

The CEO gave an exasperated smile. "All right, then, I'll leave you alone to dream about your lady friend. Just don't break her heart too badly, Bruce, we don't need any bad publicity right now." Lucius swept up his papers and left the room, already on his cell phone. "Liz, I need the latest numbers from Mern and McBach ..." the door closed and cut off his words.

"I'll try not to," Bruce said.

-------------

"Yes?"

"Diana, it's me."

"Bruce! I'm here now, Alfred and I are waiting on you for dinner—"

"I won't be able to make it tonight."

A pause. "Oh."

"Something's come up with work. Last minute merger talks, I'm stuck at the office for the rest of the night."

"Oh."

"It's a huge deal we're trying to close out. I have to meet with three different company boards before midnight."

"I understand."

"I'm very sorry."

"I am, too. Our line of work, right?"

"Close enough. What? Yes, just a second, Lucius. Gotta go."

"'Bye."

She hung up the phone and glanced at Alfred. The butler's lips were pursed. "I must apologize for him, Miss Diana—"

"It's all right, Alfred." She stood from the couch and forced a smile. "Since I'm here already, how about some dinner?"

-------------

"Nightwing and the others are taking over patrol for tonight. Nothing major going on, anyway. And you?"

"Quiet on my end, also," she replied. "Thank Hera."

"Good. And now," he rose to his feet and gallantly offered his hand to help her up. "I think it's about time we had dinner together."

She smiled and lifted her own hand. "I was beginning to think we'd never get the chance—"

Their JLA alert beepers went off simultaneously.

"Hades!" she snarled, slamming the back of her hand into an unfortunate cushion. It split open and tumbled to the ground. "I—I'm sorry, I..."

She stopped at the rare look of disappointment on his face. Then it was gone, replaced by the granite she knew so well. His words were toneless. "Yes. Let's go."

-------------

Several days after their victory over an energy core that had been threatening to collide into the earth and drill a hole right through the planet, the members of the Justice League gathered in the Watchtower for their weekly meeting.

The clock read 7:59:56. Kyle drummed his fingers on the table, looked around at the other superheroes. "Where's Bat—"

"Here."

"Urk!" The Green Lantern stiffened as the black figure glided to his chair at exactly 8:00:00.

Superman nodded. "Right. Okay, everyone. I'm calling this meeting to order. First item on the agenda today..."

Diana listened to the first few items, which dealt with recruiting standards and reserve members, then gradually tuned out the words. Her eyes darted to Batman, but as usual he was staring blankly ahead and gave no sign of noticing her. She hid a frown.

--Is everything all right, Diana?-- J'onn's voice spoke in her mind. --I apologize for the intrusion, but telepathy is not needed to recognize that you are unhappy.--

--I'm fine, J'onn,-- she replied. --Personal issues.--

--Of course. Let me know if I can help.-- His presence began to fade.

--Wait, J'onn?--

--Yes?--

--How much do you know about ... Bruce and I?--

There was a brief pause. --Um, I don't believe it would be wise for me to get involved...--

--Just tell me.--

--It was never my intention to pry into your mind, of course, but...--

--Out with it.--

If thoughts could squirm, the Martian's were certainly doing so. --—you project them, I promise I never intended to look—--

--J'onn.--

He gave what might have been a sigh. --I am aware of your...feelings for each other, which seem to grow stronger with each passing day. You radiate them sometimes, which is how I picked up on it, but he's usually so tightly wound that I catch nothing but the barest hint.--

--But of course.--

--What's troubling you?--

She sighed. --It's just that we've been trying to find time to see each other outside of 'work' and something is always coming up. Circe, our 'civilian' jobs, the JLA, Gotham, a million different things.--

--I am not well-versed in relationships, Diana. But I believe there is a human saying that goes, 'all good things are worth waiting for.'--

--Yes, I've heard that one, J'onn. It's still frustrating when we have to cancel five straight 'dates' because of some maniac with a grudge, or alien invasions, or diplomatic protests, or even a Hades-damned carjacker."

--I understand. Perhaps you are going about it the wrong way, then?

--What do you mean?--

--Bruce owns a billion dollar corporation; you are the ambassador of a sovereign nation. You both also have...activities on the side. The chance that the free time in your schedules will happen to coincide seems very small.--

--Tell me about it.--

--So instead of waiting for both schedules to conveniently open up, why not take matters into your own hands and create some free time? Perhaps one of you could make some sort of romantic overture as a surprise to the other.--

Romantic overtures. Diana almost smirked at the thought of Batman serenading her on the balcony with flowers, but a thought struck her. Wasn't that what he had done—sort of—the night she had come home from battling Circe? He had been there waiting, and although she had been too tired to reciprocate in any manner, he had still taken that step.

And she hadn't. She chided herself for that. Who would have thought the Batman would be the one reaching out in a relationship?

--Thank you, J'onn. That does help.--

--I'm glad to be of service.--

--You should have been a relationship counselor instead of a private investigator.--

--Yes. J'oanne J'ones, romantic advisor to the superhero community.--

--You would make a fortune.--

--Most of my business would come from Oliver North. I would go mad in a week.--

She gave a telepathic chuckle and glanced around the table. Superman was still droning on about some issue or other; most of the League's eyes were glazing over. Even Batman's lenses seemed dulled. --Are you paying attention to Clark?-- she asked curiously.

--Not really. More trying to catch the stray thoughts coming from Bruce's mind.--

--New hobby?--

--It's a way to pass the time.--

--What's he thinking now?--

There was a pause. -- I hear bits and pieces: something about 'how the hell', 'make Clark', and 'stop talking.' There's a glimpse of low grade plutonium and a lead-lined mouthguard.--

--Hah!-- She couldn't hold back a real smile, saw Batman's gaze shift ever so slightly to regard her.

--Hm. His thoughts are more focused, now. He's thinking of all the ways to fake an emergency in Gotham so he can leave, then fake one in Gateway City for you, too.--

--How sweet,-- she thought, amused and not a little flattered. She beamed at Batman. His lenses widened, then abruptly looked away.

--No plan to save me, unfortunately.--

--Poor J'onn.--

--Indeed,-- he replied in mock-sorrow. --No one ever thinks of the Martian.-- She grinned mentally at that.

A sudden beeping interrupted Superman in mid-sentence. All heads swiveled to look at Batman, the source of the noise. The Dark Knight stood from the table, a black slash in the otherwise bright room.

"Emergency in Gotham," he said gruffly. "Got to go."

As he left the room, two members of the League had to hold back their laughter.

-------------

He released the grapple mechanism with his left hand and dropped onto the building, cape floating behind him like a dark shroud. He crouched on the edge of the roof and stared out into the expanse of the enormous city below. His city.

It was quiet now. Things had been hectic earlier, and he would have the bruises to show for it tomorrow. But the subsequent patrol had been uneventful, with one mugging aborted before it had even begun. The mugger had lost his nerve in the shadows and run off.

A superstitious and cowardly lot indeed.

A shift in the wind currents made him lift his head. His lenses whirred as they scanned the night air. They caught nothing, but...

"What are you doing here?" he asked softly.

"Hello, Bruce."

He rose to his full height and turned to see the princess of Themyscira. She was once again wearing her loose black outfit, but this time her hair was done up atop her head, leaving her neck bared in the warm Gotham night.

"This seems familiar," he said.

She smiled, cocked her head at him. "Two weeks ago now, isn't it? Seems a lot longer."

"Yes. I thought you were busy tonight."

"I was. But I realized there was something more important I had to do." She lifted her hand, offered something white and fluffy to him. "For you."

A dandelion. He took it, raised a white lens at her.

"It's a flower." Her voice was huffy, but her eyes sparkled.

"I don't get it."

Her smile broadened. "You're not supposed to. Just blow."

He obeyed. Hundreds of the fluffy white threads scattered into the night. A few caught on the edges of his cowl. He brushed them away.

"So...?"

Diana abruptly crossed her arms. "So where was _my_ rescue from that meeting?" she demanded with a smile.

He snorted. "I was working on it when Killer Croc broke out of the Arkham hospital. Fake an emergency and get a real one. Karma." He paused. "And tell J'onn I don't appreciate him nosing around my head."

She grinned. "I asked him to. Which brings me to why I'm here. I was hoping you could take the night off also." She hesitated. "We could finally have some time together."

His gaze lingered on her for just a moment before he looked away. He shook his head. "I have to patrol. I've already missed too much time." Almost unconsciously, he shifted his left shoulder

There was no hint of regret in his tone, but the hesitation had been enough. "If you have to, I understand, Bruce. I just wanted to say hello."

They stared at each other for several moments before she turned to leave.

"Wait." She stopped, watched him lift a hand to his cowl. There was a brief pause before he spoke. "Dick. I need you to patrol tonight."

She couldn't hear the response through the earpiece, but didn't need to. "Nothing."

A pause. "I'm busy."

Another pause, then an exasperated "Can you do it or not?"

There was a long wait, then the words came in a rush: "I have a date—Batman out." He clicked off the comm and looked at her. "That's going to take a lot of explaining tomorrow," he said sullenly.

She smiled and walked to him, wrapped her arm around his waist. "I think it'll be worth it." His lenses widened as they floated off the roof.

-------------

"You did not!"

"I did. I don't think I ever saw her again."

She giggled as she put down the empty wineglass. He picked up the 1997 bottle of Dom. Romanee Conti. French burgundy worth $1500 a bottle swirled into her glass.

"Are you trying to get me drunk, Mr. Wayne?" she asked, smiling widely at him. Her cheeks were rosy.

He gave her an innocent grin in reply, then lifted his own glass. "A toast."

She mirrored his action. "To what?"

"To... to not being busy."

She laughed. "To not being busy," she agreed.

They clinked glasses and sipped the burgundy. She settled back into her chair and studied him from behind lowered lashes. His lips looked very kissable.

-------------

They tumbled to the floor.

Alfred, who had entered the room a moment earlier carrying a tray of cheesecake, stopped in his tracks upon seeing the two figures sprawled on the ground. The butler turned and made his retreat in one smooth, if hasty, motion.

He closed the door behind him without a sound, then tiptoed away. He was smiling.

-------------

-

-

And now, gentle soul, we spare them our prying eyes, for even the mightiest of heroes, the darkest and the brightest, need time to themselves—and to each other.

So we leave this mortal palace, and make our way to—

What's that?

Another look?

No, I don't believe that to be possible, and after all—

Hmm? One _last_ look, you say? Just one?

Well...

Perhaps one can be spared, for it is indeed a rare occasion to see two such opposites come together. The shadow and the sun, darkness and light, secrecy and truth.

Hurry, then: one last glance, and then to slip away unnoticed...

Here, hours later, they slumber in the domain of Morpheus. Quietly, now, lest we rouse them. See how her head lies snug against the crook of his arm? We cannot see her face nor divine her dreams, but by her calm demeanor we can tell this much: she sleeps soundly in his arms. She feels safe now, safer in the embrace of a mere mortal than she would on the highest peaks of Mount Olympus or behind the mightiest warriors of Earth.

And he...by the gods, what a sight. He smiles, not the cruel twist of the lips he employs in his nocturnal work, nor the vapid grin of his mask to the outside world, but a genuine smile, a true expression of joy that lights his erstwhile somber face.

He is something that he never thought possible after that cold, terrifying, night so many years ago. During those moments, each lasting an eternity, in which he lost everything in the world.

He is happy. And he has found what he has lost. Perhaps not all, but given time...

Shhh. We must go now, before he notices; a man of his keen senses would not find it a hard task. Thus we depart on the wings of night, and bid them farewell in the tranquility of their slumber. No, do not protest, but instead take comfort in this simple fact: the shadow has found its light.

The knight has found his princess.

-

-

_End_

-

-

-

-

-

Author's note:

A huge thank you goes to everyone who read and commented on this story. I hope you had half as much fun reading as I did writing. Well, for the most part—some portions were just insanely frustratingly godawful to hammer out. This last chapter was actually written several months ago—I just ran out of steam and the desire to proofread my work for the hundredth time (there's only so much of your own writing you can read before you get sick of yourself, am I right?)

So it sat there, mostly done. I decided to polish and put it up after seeing some BM/WW oriented episodes of Justice League Unlimited and having my interest rekindled. In the spirit of laziness I cut out a lot of stuff I originally wanted to write, but c'est la vie. At least it's finished. :) Looking back, I find it hard to believe it's been almost a year since I first got into the idea; it's very cool watching the occasional "shippy" episode of JLU and seeing how far things have come.

Finally, as the introduction implies, this story would have never been were it not for those fantastic authors who have written such amazing stories on this archive: my hat goes off to Tullberg, Petersen, Meljean/UG, Artemis, SteelMagnolia, and more. Bravo!


End file.
